


Bridging the Gap

by AariMarlow



Series: At the Center of the Universe [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Bonding, Claiming, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Manipulation, Multi, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Power Dynamics, Power Exchange, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Slow Burn, Submission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:16:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27178433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AariMarlow/pseuds/AariMarlow
Summary: The university was a social experiment. A program to bring two separate groups of people together, all in the name of cultural exchange and education.The only problem – that was a lie.Fitch knew that from the beginning, but it didn’t matter. For him, this was an opportunity. A chance to re-connect with his home. To understand where he came from and what could have been his life. Before he had the choice taken away.But something is changing for Fitch. And soon there will be a decision to make.
Series: At the Center of the Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983835
Comments: 15
Kudos: 12





	1. Part One: The First Day

**Author's Note:**

> This story revolves a group of people separate and genetically different from the rest of the human race. This is dark fantasy, and it contains some questionable views on ethics and morals that are not condoned or applicable to real life at all. That being said, I hope this some provides some fantasy and escapism with all the crazy nonsense going on in the world today...
> 
> In terms of chronology, this starts off a year before the events described in my other story, "The First and Last Time" (which is currently still in progress). It would probably be helpful to read that first.

_  
  
_

“…The side lines is lined with casualties  
who sip life casually.  
Then gradually become worse –  
Don’t bite the apple, Eve.”  
  
\- Jay-Z, “Empire State of Mind”

_One Year Before “The First & Last Time” Begins_   
  


_Taylor_

His parents had finally left. With one last insistence that he _be safe_. To _call them if he needed anything_. Then the last, tight, lingering hugs. Then – gone. 

Leaving Taylor alone in the room.

_His_ room… His room, which looked nothing like what he conception of a college dorm room should be.

It was spacious, well-appointed, with gleaming wooden furniture, freshly painted walls, a queen-size bed, and a _private en-suite bathroom_.

No, this wasn’t a dorm. This wasn’t some grungy, cinderblock closet crammed with two or three students.

No, this was a hotel suite.

And Taylor hadn’t paid _a cent_ for it. 

Unmoored and restless, he found himself pacing. Looking out the large windows at the gritty, metropolitan splendor that was Manhattan.

It was a fantastic view – brick and concrete skyscrapers stretching up into the dark autumn sky. Whirling chaos of traffic and pedestrians on the thoroughfare below. Busy, vibrant, _alive_.

He was a long way from his rural upstate New York town. Well… metaphorically at least. At most it was three hour drive back home. 

But still… 

Fuck… what the fuck was he _doing_ here?

It was a question Taylor figured most people asked themselves on the first day at college. But most college experiences weren’t like _this_. Fuck, who was he kidding, _no college experience_ was like this.

And wasn’t that, at the fundamental core, why he was here?

Not for the _free_ education, essentially at an Ivy League school.

Not for the _notoriety_. The acclaim and fame of being one of the people in this _novel experiment_.

No…Taylor didn’t really give a shit about that. He’d even rejected his local paper’s request for an interview after they’d heard he was attending.

No, Taylor was here because he was – what? Curious? Intrigued? _Fascinated?_

Or maybe it was even simpler…

Maybe it was just that he wanted to _understand_.

Everyone was so _concerned_ about these people. Fuck, _terrified_ was a more honest word. To the point where literally everyone that Taylor had told his decision had reacted the same way. 

_Really? Why? You’re really going there?_

_But why would you want to do that?_

_You’re serious? You’re going to that school?_

_Aren’t you freaked out? They’re like supposed to be crazy?_

_Didn’t you see the news? Didn’t they just kidnap those people in Europe?_

_But aren’t they like murderers… Rapists. Why would you ever…?_

So much confusion and concern from everyone in his life.

And yet, that all just seemed… _wrong_.

Ignorant and wrong. Because, at the end of the day, no one actually knew anything about the Mytarri. Their news on these people was as substantive as an exposé on Area 51 or Bigfoot’s hiding place.

It wasn’t _real_.

It was just rumors and speculation and theories.

Because Mytarri and their nation of Crimimiss were _closed_. If North Korea was considered a Hermit Kingdom, then Crimimiss was its even more reclusive cousin.

When they _revealed_ themselves on the world stage almost twenty years ago – claiming wild, fantastic, _impossible_ things – well, everyone had wanted in. Everyone wanted to _see_. To know. Was it true? Could it be true?

And then came the rumors. Insane rumors. Terrifying rumors. From people who claimed to know them. Claimed some insight into who and what these people were…

But directly from the source? _Nothing._ And the borders remained closed.

Until very recently – when things began to change. The Mytarri seemed interested in setting up some formal relationships with other countries now. Connecting with the outside world.

And of all those tentative first steps, the most captivating was this – this Ridgeview University project…

And here was Taylor.

Somehow selected to be one of the people right at the epicenter of this.

But the question, of course, was what exactly was _this_?

Was this, like his family and friends feared, some terrible mistake?

Or was it _an_ opportunity? A opportunity to _learn_ something. An opportunity to be part of something. Something… _meaningful_.

Was this Taylor’s chance to actually do something _substantial_ with his life? 

So, here he was.

And if this turned out to be a massive mistake…

Well, it was only a three hour drive home.

And besides, the real challenge wasn’t for another _couple years_.

Yes, he had _two years_. Two years to decide if he could do this. If he really _wanted_ to do this. 

In the meantime, this was just another school. Another normal university. Nothing to worry about except the regular new environment jitters. Nothing to stress over.

Taylor took a calming breath. Looked down at his phone. 

Shit. It was almost time for the orientation dinner.

He walked out of his room, into the corridor. He’d been assigned to a room down at the end of a long hallway, in an off-the-path nook. Only one other room nearby, directly across from his.

And for the entire afternoon, as he and his parents been moving in, traipsing back and forth from the parking garage, there had been no activity across the hall. No sign anyone else was there.

Now the doorway was open. Lights on.

Well…might as well be friendly.

“Hi – Hello,” he said, knocking on the open door, and popping his head inside.

To his surprise, the room was completely unpacked. Everything immaculate and stored away and arranged. _Homey._ Fuck – there was already a cozy, area rug and framed pictures on the walls. 

But Taylor trailed away from his inspection, focusing on the stranger in room.

It was a guy around his age, typing away at a laptop on his desk.

He turned when he heard Taylor knocking. Swiveled around in his chair and got up, walking towards him.

“Oh, hi,” he said, smile bright, inviting, “How are you doing? I’m Fitch. Fitch Dennison.”

“Hey, Fitch. I’m Taylor. Taylor Steinberg. Nice to meet you.”

He put out his hand, and the guy – Fitch – laughed a little before accepting, shaking it firmly.

“Nice to meet you, Taylor Steinberg. You just moving in?”

“Yeah, yeah. Drove down with my parents, and they just left. I’m right here – across the hall.” Taylor gestured haphazardly behind him. “You move in today too?”

“Ah, no,” Fitch said, with a small shake of his head, his mussed, chestnut brown hair falling around his ears, “I moved in a couple days ago.”

“Oh?” Taylor tilted his head, looked around the room again. The furniture all neat and pristine. And Taylor had the notion that it looked _different_ than his room. Nicer. Swankier. Had this guy replaced all the standard furniture that had come with the place?

“I thought,” he continued, “That the dorms weren’t open until today?”

“They weren’t,” Fitch said, “But I had a family thing. Had to come a little earlier and Sterling was fine with it.”

Sterling.

Sterling Xchielkla. The university director. The… _person_ running this place.

That was a whole other crazy situation that Taylor could barely comprehend…

He thought back to his interview with the man. One the most _surreal_ experiences of his life. 

It had been in-person, in his hometown. They’d sat together, in a familiar diner that Taylor had often frequented with his friends and family. So strange for that person to have been there. In his world. In his _real_ world.

That person… that person who claimed to not even be _human_. 

Taylor blinked. Bringing himself back to the conversation at hand.

“Well, that’s cool,” he said, making an effort to smile, “Maybe you can show me around then if you’ve been here a while. I keep getting lost.”

Fitch shrugged.

“Sure,” he said, “Haven’t really spent much time on campus though. But I think I know where a couple things are.”

“Cool,” Taylor, “So you want to head to this orientation dinner?”

“Oh,” Fitch looked down at his phone, “Oh, I completely forgot. Yeah, we should go.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They walked down to the cafeteria – _the dining hall_ as it had been called. No one else was around, as they were late.

They reached the ground level of the dormitory and dashed across the main courtyard of their urban enclave. This open space of stone surrounded by tall, concentrate structures. The campus of Ridgeview University was definitely small, _contained_. All the buildings connected by this common courtyard, and only accessible from the outside by two entrances – either up through the parking garage or the main entrance accessible from the sidewalk. Both of which had been guarded by no less than _six people_. All these massive, jacked up military types.

That had appeased Taylor’s mother at least. Relieved about the security.

But no time to ponder that.

Taylor and his new neighbor rushed across the open courtyard. He flung open the door to the dining hall and they both crept inside. Slipped into a couple seats at a table near the back.

The hall was wide open, _grand_. All stone and glass and wooden round tables and atmospheric lighting. Everything seemed artful, tasteful, classic, timeless… It reminded Taylor of the dining halls at _Columbia_ , their “sister university” just a couple subway stops away. It reminded Taylor of all the dining spaces he’d seen before at the old, prestigious universities of the northeastern United States. The Ivy League schools, the centuries-old colleges … All those places he’d visited a few years ago when he thought he’d be a normal high school senior and go off to university directly after his high school graduation.

But, of course, _life had happened_. Things changed. And despite getting in to a fair amount of those prestigious institutions, Taylor had stayed home. Worked. Took a few classes at community college. But that was then…

And now, here he was – Twenty-one years old, and a freshman again.

A freshman at this school with the buildings and structures that looked like an old, fabled academic establishment … Except it was all brand new. Had just been built in the past year.

And this group, these two hundred students now seated in this vast, grand space, they were Ridgeview University’s first, inaugural class.

Well, technically _half_ of that class.

Until the _others_ arrived. Until the Mytarri arrived. In two years…

Taylor and Fitch had been just in time.

At the front of the dining hall, Sterling Xchielkla walked onto the raised stage. A silence fell throughout the crowd. An _anticipation_.

Taylor watched the man closely. He was smiling at the crowd. But it was a small smile. Thoughtful. Warm. And Taylor thought _genuine_.

He seemed excited. _Happy_. His motions and movements all fluid and relaxed and graceful.

It would have been hard _not_ to watch him, even if he wasn’t on a stage in front of everyone.

Sterling Xchielkla was an extremely striking person. 

When Taylor had met him, what had struck him immediately was his _height_. He was significantly tall. Like NBA basketball player tall. Easily seven foot, maybe more.

And his body was like an athlete – trim and toned, covered in sleek, lean muscle. Refined yet well-formed features. Deep-set, rounded black eyes that glittered like gemstones. Silky black hair that fell just below his ears. His ethnicity seemed ambiguous. Somewhere between south Asian and Arabic and maybe African. A very handsome man.

But supposedly that was all irrelevant.

Because Sterling Xchielkla claimed to not be _human_.

Not a normal being like Taylor.

Not even one of the Mytarri.

Just… something _else_.

What that was exactly – _unclear_.

In various media interviews, Sterling Xchielkla dodged any real answer. Claiming sometimes people had referred to his kind as _gypsies_ , though emphasizing they nothing had to do with the Romani people.

But when Taylor had finally met him in person and mustered up the courage to ask, point blank, what Sterling actually was…

Well, to his credit, Sterling had said some nonsense syllables – _Avalna_. But then he'd said it that was all unimportant. This wasn’t about him or his people, he claimed. He was just a facilitator. A mediator. A middleman. And that the only thing Taylor should call him or consider him was _Sterling_.

And for whatever reason, Taylor had accepted that. _Trusted_ that.

Besides… it was probably all bullshit anyway.

Despite his height, Sterling definitely _looked_ human. Standing up on the stage, in a tailored beige suit that fit him like a glove, he looked a businessman or a professor or a basketball player at a press conference… 

So here they were.

“Good evening, everyone,” Sterling Xchielkla said. His tone was deep, _lush_ in an unidentifiable accent. But it consumed the dining hall. “I hope you all are settling in and I hope you had a good afternoon with your families and friends. Now it’s my privilege to officially welcome you all to Ridgeview University.”

He paused and the weight of those words sank in this vast space. As two hundred people absorbed the implications. 

“This is truly a historic moment. And I’m so proud and honored to be a part of this. I’m sure you all have many questions. I’m sure some of you are even wondering, why am I here? Why I am doing this? What exactly have I signed up for?”

A couple nervous chuckles from the crowd. Sterling smiled kindly out at them.

“I understand,” he said, earnest in his empathy, “It’s a strange thing – living with _different people_. People from different cultures. With different points of view. Different ways of looking at the world, interacting with it… But I think it’s an extremely important thing as well. It’s so important to look outside of yourself and your preconceptions. Important to _challenge_ yourself. That’s really, I truly believe, the only we way we grow. Both individually as people, and as a society. It’s how we create a more diverse, understanding and _interesting_ society.

“So I want to thank you all. For coming here. For being a part of this. And I sincerely hope this night is the beginning of a truly _meaningful_ experience for us all.”

He smiled deeper. Looked around the dining hall with bright, sparkling black eyes.

“Now, the first step though, is creating a foundation here. A _community_ here amongst yourselves. In the interview process, many of you asked me about why we’re waiting _two years_. Why not just begin this program with everyone at once?

“It’s complicated, of course. On the Crimimiss side of things, we still have a lot of … let’s call them, _logistical hurdles_ , to work out. But even if we could bring the others over today, I would still wait the two years.

“I think it’s important – _crucial_ actually, that you all have this time to come together and establish a foundation here together. You all will know by now, to my surprise, we had _thousands_ of applicants for these two hundred spots. So many potential students. Though I think that probably just says more about the crushing reality of student debt in this country, rather than anything else.”

A few more tentative laughs.

“In all seriousness though, you all were selected to be here for a reason. And I believe and I hope that you’ll find yourself to be amongst a like-minded, supportive group. A group of people who are open-minded and curious. Passionate and courageous. And I’m genuinely excited to see what these next two years bring and see how you all grow and learn together… And then… and then we can deal with the Mytarri.”

He paused and laughed a little himself. Clearly joking and amused.

Taylor felt himself smiling too, watching and listening to all of this.

It was the same as he’d felt when he’d interviewed with Sterling one-on-one.

The man just had a … _calm_ way about him. Open. Sincere. Composed.

Taylor felt himself relax, much more at ease then when he arrived.

“Well,” Sterling continued, “Speaking of Mytarri – I have someone I’d like to introduce you all to tonight.”

He turned. And there was another man walking up the stairs, onto the stage.

He looked nothing like Sterling Xchielkla.

Standing besides that giant of man, the newcomer seemed small, _lithe_. Probably at least a foot or so shorter than Sterling.

He wore casual clothing rather a suit. Tight black skinny jeans, ankle boots, a fitted black sweater. His hair was a pile of spiraling black curls. Hs skin pale and luminous. Big, bright blue eyes.

And something –

Taylor wasn’t even sure what to make of it at this distance.

Around the man’s neck was some … _jewelry_. It reflected a bit in overhead lights. Sleek, polished silver and massive, gleaming stones. They looked like _diamonds_.

But the necklace – it was tight around the man’s neck. 

Like a choker.

Like a _collar_.

“Everyone, this is Wilmer Dylan,” Sterling said. He looked over at the man, expression beaming and brilliantly warm. “This is my husband. My _partner_. Dylan has been instrumental in making this entire enterprise possible. And he’s very graciously agreed to say a few words tonight. So please…”

Silence in the hall then.

Absolute silence.

Fuck.

It had never occurred to Taylor, that Sterling’s _husband_ would be here tonight. But, of course… of course, he was…

“Hello everyone,” this newcomer said. He spoke English with an accent as well, though different from his partner’s. Sharper. Consonants crisp and clear.

He was smiling too. But unlike his husband there was almost … an edge to the smile. Something a little more aware. A little more _sardonic_.

“My name is Wilmer Dylan. But please call me Dylan. I’m also so happy to be here with you tonight. And frankly – I’m amazed. Not that long ago, something like this would have been absolutely _inconceivable_. And yet, here we are all.

“As most of you are probably aware, I’m from Crimimiss. I’m Mytarri. And just saying that, in front of a group like you, is just … It’s _wild_.

“But yes, I’m Mytarri. Mytarri like your classmates who will _hopefully_ be joining you in a couple years time. I say _hopefully_ because, unlike my husband, who’s eternally optimistic about these things, some of those ‘logistical hurdles’ we’re facing in Crimimiss are… quite substantial. So, as with everything else, let’s see.

“In the meantime though, _welcome_. You probably won’t see me too much in this beginning. But I’ll be around. I’ll be running all of the _security_ for our campus here. As you and your families have heard all day, security and safety is of first and foremost importance to everyone working on this project.

“We have installed extensive security measures throughout the school, and I want to assure everyone that we’re taking our safety here extremely seriously.

“With that in mind, I’d like to take this opportunity to reiterate what you’ve already heard and know and agreed to when accepting your offer here. And that is, now that your families have all left the campus, we’re enacting our _no visitor policy_ for the entire University property. Absolutely no one except registered students, faculty and staff are permitted onto this campus. There are no exceptions. There _will be_ no exceptions.

“Sterling and I – we know your friends and family members are _curious_. Interested in everything that is going on here. We also know that many of you have already been approached by the media and press, who are fascinated to write and report stories about this experience.

“However, for everyone’s safety, we cannot allow anyone else, for any reason, to come onto the school property. You all have the rest of the planet to meet with whoever you like, wherever else you like. But while you’re here _…_ While you’re _ours…_ No one is coming onto this campus beyond our students and staff.

“You might think this is a very extreme policy, compared to other schools and environments. But I really cannot overstate how important this is to everyone’s safety. So I’ll just say, one last time, no one is coming onto our property who isn’t a registered student or staff member. And that’s it.”

Dylan smiled. Flash of white teeth.

“Anyways… In Crimion, we have an expression. In English, it’s something like – ‘You’re invited. You’re welcome as a friend.’ So, _welcome_. And also thank you, for hosting _us_ , for hosting people like me into your country, _your home_. We’re so happy to be here.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The dinner was served shortly afterwards. Family style feasts on the each of the round tables. Taylor absently grabbed some steak and vegetables and potatoes as everyone around him _talked_. Their voices growing louder, thicker, more _excited_.

“I mean – fuck,” a guy, Darien, said, his eyes _shining_ , “Less than twenty-four hours in, and we’ve already met one of _them_. I mean, I thought we definitely wouldn’t meet any until the students came in two years.”

“I think they just meant the other Mytarri students… not Mytarri in general,” a girl, Fiona said, “Besides, it’s his _husband_. Makes sense he would be here.”

“Sure – but how did he get a visa?” Darien countered, “I thought we still weren’t issuing any visas for them, except for short term travel?”

“Well, maybe he’s just on a short visa. Or maybe he got an exception. Anyways, I don’t think that’s anywhere near as crazy as this whole _blood work_ thing. Have any of you gotten any results back from the tests?”

“No,” this other guy, Zhou, said, “It is kind of fucked. I took mine like a month ago… I thought we would have heard back by now.”

“ _I know_ ,” Fiona said, “Like what’s up with that? I mean, I want to know if I’m… ‘ _Mytarric’_ or whatever the hell they’re calling it. Don’t we have a right to?”

“I still,” Darien said, “like don’t even know what that means… _Mytarric_ …But my parents were really freaked about it. Like my Mom almost had an aneurism when she heard this crazy conspiracy thing that this whole operation is some kind of _breeding experiment._ Some right wing nut job was saying that the American government and the Crimimiss government want to see if they can get us to breed – create some of kind of _half-race_. Like –”

“Why do you keep looking at me when you say ‘breed’?” Fiona said, “We’re not _breeding_. I just met you two fucking hours ago.”

“What? No, no I – I didn’t mean. I – wasn’t – ”

“Would you pass the potatoes?” Fitch said, quietly to his left. Taylor startled and then reached for the dish.

“Sure. Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

Taylor looked back at his new neighbor while the rest of their table spiraled into a more outrageous conversation about sexual experiments.

This guy, Fitch Dennison, looked largely unaffected by the evening’s events. He sat beside Taylor, his gaze casually, nonchalantly drifting around the table.

Taylor observed him a little more closely. He was average height, but clearly _fit_ , lean, with defined muscle obvious under his tight knit sweater and pale-washed jeans. He had these wide, rounded brown eyes that looked … _far away_. Deep in thought, but also… calm. Clear. 

Yes, everyone else at this table had those lines of excitement, tension, and nerves on their faces but this guy just seemed – unfazed. Unperturbed.

“Hey, Fitch,” Taylor said, drawing the man’s attention back to him, “You said you’ve already been here a couple days, right?”

Fitch nodded between bites of food.

“Yeah,” he said, “Since Saturday.”

“Cool. Cool… So did you talk with any of them some more? Like Sterling or…?”

“Yeah,” Fitch said, smiling a little, “I talked with Sterling. Dylan too. Just briefly. Not about anything specific or anything. They seem… _friendly_.”

“Uh huh,” Taylor said, “Well, that’s good I guess.”

“I guess so,” Fitch said, smiling further, “So what about you, Taylor Steinberg? You said you drove down today? From where?”

“Oh, from upstate. I’m like up around the Finger Lakes.”

“The Finger Lakes,” Fitch said, nodding, “That’s sounds nice. I’ll have to check it out.”

“Oh, it’s okay. It’s a good scene on the lakes in the summer. But what about you? Where are you from?”

“Ah, here actually,” Fitch said, “I was born in Brooklyn. But I moved away when I was really young. And haven’t been back in _years_.”

“That’s cool. So where did you move after New York?”

“Well, a lot of places, actually. We travelled a lot for … my Dad’s work. But right before I came over here, I was studying in Switzerland.”

“Switzerland,” Taylor repeated, his eyes widening, “That’s awesome. I went to Europe a couple years ago with my family. England and France. It was great. Didn’t make it to Switzerland though.”

“You’re not missing much,” Fitch said, laughing a little.

“Oh, really? You didn’t like it?”

“Ah… Let’s just say, I’m a lot _happier_ to be here.”

“Alright, then. So you came back to New York. But why…”

“What?” Fitch asked, as Taylor trailed off, “You mean why did I decide to come _here_?”

“Yeah,” Taylor said, nodding, “I mean, of all of the schools in New York, why did you decide to come to this crazy, social _experiment_?”

Fitch smiled.

“Crazy, _social_ experiment,” he said, “So you’re not buying this government breeding a half-race conspiracy theory?” He tilted his head towards the rest of their table, now deep in discussion about the ethics of sexual consent in scientific studies.

“Well…” Taylor said, smiling back, “I’m not ruling anything out. But I’m pretty sure Columbia University wouldn’t partner with a program that was forcing people to _procreate_. And I’m also pretty sure that if that was truly the objective of all this, no government would go through the trouble of setting up a random university cover story.”

“Oh, you mean, like the CIA would just come and drag you away in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah, something like that. Anything else just seems a little _inefficient._ ”

Fitch laughed. A happy, sincere noise.

“So,” Taylor continued, “Why did you come here then? From Switzerland?”

“Hmm,” Fitch replied. He looked straight at Taylor, gaze suddenly intent and focused, “I guess it’s pretty complicated, right? But long story short – Like I said, I… _travelled_ a lot, growing up. And a lot of the time, I was the only ah – _American_ in certain places. And, that was difficult, you know. But – over time, you adapt. You learn _how_ to adapt. You learn how to _listen_ to different perspectives. How to understand different cultures. Even if you don’t agree on things, you can learn to _understand_ them. And I think that’s important. And I think that’s what they’re trying to do here, with this program. To provide a way for Mytarri and us to understand each. And I think that’s extremely important. And _necessary_. And I’m… _happy_ to be a part of it.”

He stopped. Looked at Taylor. His smile now replaced with something more firm, _serious_.

“But, of course,” Taylor said, trying to lighten up the tone, “There’s the fact that it’s a free university education.”

And Fitch did laugh again. But it had a _bite_ to it. An ironic edge.

“Taylor Steinberg,” he said, “You seem like a preceptive guy. Don’t you know that nothing is ever free? But that’s not the point. And that’s definitely not the _why._ ”

“What do you mean?” Taylor asked, “What’s not the _why_?”

“I mean, why do you think this experience is _free_? Do really think that was to get people to come here? You think no one would have applied if it _wasn’t_ free? If there had been a cost?”

Taylor looked around the hall. This group of humanity all animated with energetic conservation.

“I don’t know,” he said, at last, “Maybe. Maybe not. It definitely was an incentive though.”

Fitch nodded, smile again on his lips.

“Yes, an _incentive_. Or a _rationalization_ , a _justification_. Or more like a _removal_ of any _excuse_ , of any barrier _not_ to come… But a not _why_. Not a reason. I mean, why are you here, Taylor Steinberg?”

He paused. Looked at the other man expectantly with steady, clear eyes.

“Well,” Taylor said, after a moment, “I guess it’s similar to you. I thought… I thought this seemed important. The opportunity to get to know them. To understand each other. To understand someone different. _Something different_. And I wanted to understand. _I want to understand_.”

And Fitch nodded.

“And you know what, Taylor Steinberg,” he said, “I have a feeling that if you asked everyone in this room, they’d say something similar too. And isn’t that just _interesting_?”

He paused. And suddenly his eyes seemed distant again. Contemplative…

“I guess that's just part of human nature, right?” Fitch continued, “To want to understand... To know. Isn’t that the genesis story? Eve bit into the apple from the tree of knowledge. Tempted and manipulated by the serpent.”

Silence for a few moments.

“So who’s the serpent?” Taylor said, at last, drawing Fitch away from his thoughts, “Who’s tempting and manipulating us? Is it the Mytarri?”

“Oh – yes,” Fitch said, smiling again, “Yes, of course.”

“But… why? What do they want?”

“Well, isn’t that the _real question_? And the problem is, just like the story, you have to bite into the apple – _the forbidden fruit_ – before you can know.”


	2. Part One: The First Semester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one and a strange one. 
> 
> But this story is a slow build. All part of the mystery. But please be mindful of the tags here. As this progresses, it will get a lot darker. 
> 
> Also, just wanted to make the timeline clear here. This first year at Ridgeview is one year before The First & Last Time begins. Hope you all enjoy!

_The First Semester_

_(A Year Before The First & Last Time Begins)_

“People are strange,  
when you're a stranger."  
  
-The Doors, "People are Strange"

_Taylor_

“So,” Sterling said, small smile on his lips, as he leaned back into his chair, “How are you doing, Taylor?”

Taylor tried to smile back, but his eyes darted around this office again. A cozy place that looked like a den or study, with books packed onto shelves, papers cluttered over the desk, bits of exotic art and artifacts strewn everywhere.

The space felt warm – lived in. Like Sterling Xchielkla had worked here for decades, instead of a few months.

Taylor forced himself to exhale. He meet the deep black eyes staring at him from across the desk. Calm, steady eyes.

He realized he had clenched the arms of the chair. He pried his fingers off the leather cushioning. Tried to _relax_.

“I’m good,” he said, “Just been, you know, settling in. Classes have been good. The dorm is good. Everyone here is really good. It’s all been good.”

“Well, _good_ ,” Sterling said, smiling wider, “Even though I think you’re just being polite. And you really don’t have to be, Taylor. Truly. You can say whatever you’d like to me.”

“Oh,” Taylor was a little taken aback, “No, I wasn’t…I wasn’t just being polite. I’m – it’s really good here. Really. I like my classes a lot. Here and at Columbia. But I really like the Econ class here, with Doctor Isaac. And the dorms are like, amazing. It feels like a hotel, honestly. And the food is awesome. Like, whenever I eat at the Columbia campus, I’m always like, _eh_. But here is great. I’m…I’m really enjoying it.”

Sterling nodded, made a thoughtful sound.

“And the people?” he asked, “What do you think of the other students?”

“Well…I think everyone’s been great,” Taylor said, “Really interesting mix of people…No issues at all.”

Sterling nodded again.

“I’m glad to hear that, Taylor,” he said, “And it seems like you’ve making some friends.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I have.”

And that was true. Since their first day a month ago, Taylor had begun to settle into a rhythm at Ridgeview University. He actually had been hanging out with the people he’d met at the orientation dinner. It seemed like a good crew. Everyone got on well. Easy banter, good laughs, lots of ridiculousness while exploring the city…

“Good,” Sterling said again, gaze warm and sincere, “I think that’s really important for all of you. That you get to know each well. Become _close_ …”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop. His movements all surprisingly fluid and graceful for a man Sterling’s height. He smiled fully, the expression bright and dazzling. Taylor was struck by how handsome he was… 

“Well, with that in mind,” the university director continued, “I’m sure you’ve heard from the others about these meetings. So what do you think about all of this? How are you feeling about everything?”

Yes… Yes, of course, Taylor had heard about these meetings. It was really all anyone could talk about this week. Such anxious, excited, fascinated conversation between classes and during meals…

This past week, Sterling had scheduled time with all of the Ridgeview students. The purpose had been laid out clearly in the email. This was to discuss their _test results_. The results from their _Mytarric_ test – a blood test they all had taken prior to arriving at the Ridgeview university.

These tests were incredibly _controversial_. 

They were conducted to essentially determine if someone had the Mytarri gene… or, even more rare, to determine if someone _was_ Mytarri.

Since Crimimiss had emerged on the world stage two decades ago, these tests had been the primary mission of the Mytarri. They wanted to make them as available and accessible as possible across the entire planet.

But there had been _intense_ pushback on this. Because the Mytarri wanted to completely control the administration of these tests, and have total access to all of the data from the results.

In the United States, that went against fundamental medical privacy laws. So it had been the subject of extreme debate and scrutiny.

At first, Crimimiss had rebuked any attempt at compromise. The Mytarri demanded complete autonomy over the tests, or they would refuse further cooperation with the global scientific study of their people as a whole. 

Eventually though, a tense agreement had been reached. In the United States at least.

But that was irrelevant in Taylor’s situation.

For the students of Ridgeview, the test had been a _mandatory_ condition of enrollment . And not only had the tests been mandatory, but it was _required_ that the students share their results with the school administration.

That had been a major concern to Taylor’s parents.

But the argument had been that this was _crucial_ to the operation of this whole Ridgeview experiment. Sterling had said that the Mytarri wouldn’t participate in this program unless all the Mort students been tested.

And he emphasized it was critical to make sure that none of the American Mortagaia students were actually Mytarri. If that happened, Sterling had claimed it would be exceptionally dangerous for everyone, but especially the student. At their age, all in their early twenties, undiagnosed Mytarrism was _fatal_.

Ultimately that had made Taylor’s parents accept the test. This idea that they could make sure that son was actually just a _regular person_. A regular human. Not Mytarri. Not in imminent danger of suddenly dying…

Sterling stared at Taylor, his expression kind and patient as Taylor’s thoughts whirled away. But eventually Taylor snapped back to the present. Realized that Sterling was actually waiting for a response for him.

“Ah, sorry – I’m alright. Kind of nervous,” he admitted. Though that might have been the understatement of the century. Anxiety-ridden mess would be more accurate. “I don’t really know what to expect, to be honest. Especially after hearing about everyone’s results.”

There was some bite to Taylor’s last words, but he couldn’t help it.

It seemed, after everyone else at this school, that Taylor’s meeting with Sterling had been scheduled _last_. He realized, logically, that someone would of course be last, in any order of things. But having to wait and hear about everyone else’s results all week had been _endless_. Especially tortuous as the _details_ of everyone’s results had become clear.

“I understand,” Sterling said, his eyes sympathetic, “I’m sorry you had to wait so long, but I wanted to make sure I gave everyone equal time to ask me any questions, or discuss any concerns. And the same is definitely true for you, Taylor. You can ask me anything, and I’ll tell you what I can. But, anyways, we can get to that shortly. I won’t make you wait anymore. Here. Have a look. Take your time and read through this.”

And he picked up an innocuous folder from his desk, and handed it over to Taylor.

Taylor opened the documents. He could hear his heart pounding, his blood pulsing in the tips of his ears. His eyes scanned the words in a rushed haze, skimming and grabbing at the key phrases.

Oh fuck.

 _Fuck_.

So, yes, this was happening.

His worries, his questions, his anxieties had been valid.

This was _real_. Fucking real.

“So…” Taylor managed, his voice some kind of gruff gulping noise, “It says…It says I’m positive. Positive for this gene. This _Mytarri_ gene.”

“Yes,” Sterling said, voice smooth and clear and _soothing_ , “Yes, Taylor. You’re a carrier for the gene. You’re _Mytarric_.”

“So…” Taylor let the papers fall in his lap. He looked up at Sterling. Met the man’s bright, warm eyes. “So, like, what does this mean? I’m not… I’m not, Mytarri right?”

“No,” Sterling said, “You’re not Mytarri. You’re _Mytarric_. The gene is recessive in you. Dormant.”

“Okay… So… am I going to get sick? Am I in some danger now?”

“ _No_ ,” Sterling insisted, firm and empathetic, “You’re not in any medical danger. The recessive gene is harmless. It does not lead to any of the complications that come with active Mytarrism. All the same though, I would strongly recommend that you make a follow-up appointment with the doctors at Mount Sinai. Just so you feel confident that you fully understand what this means from a medical perspective. We’ve been working closely with the hospital for the initial testing, and all follow-ups will be free of charge to you. I can help you schedule this if you want.”

“Um… yeah. I think, I think that would be good. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Sterling said, eyes intent on him, “I want to make sure you feel informed. And as I’m not a mort doctor, there’s some things are that definitely best explained by the medical professionals. But I will try to help with anything else. Do you have any other questions?”

Only about a million. 

But Taylor forced himself to breathe. Swallow. Push away the spiraling panic and form words.

“Well,” he started, “So what does that mean then, that gene is recessive? Like… that means I can pass it on, right? So, would my children would be Mytarri?”

“Your children _could_ be Mytarri,” Sterling said, “Emphasis on _could_. And, in reality, it’s an extremely rare chance that it would happen. You would need to have a child with someone else who also is Mytarric. And that is an incredibly small percentage of the population. Less than 1%. And even then, even if both parents are Mytarric, the recessive genes still might not be passed on.”

Taylor just found himself blinking. Trying not to drown in the implications of all this. He needed to focus. Get to the root of things that he _needed_ to know.

“Alright, so you say it’s an incredibly small percentage of the population. But like… like so many people here are _this_. So many students who’ve gotten their results this week _are_ Mytarric. I mean, like half of everyone I’ve spoken with… So… did you plan this? Were you looking for Mytarric people to come here? To come to this university?”

“Hmm,” Sterling made a thoughtful noise, small smile back on his face, “What’s that Yiddish expression? _Man plans, God laughs_ , right? But isn’t that really the truth? You can try and plan everything out. Every step and every detail. But in the end, something will change, and suddenly all your plans are _useles_ s.

“So, I try not to waste too much time with plans, Taylor. All I can do is _hope_. And then prepare. For the best and for the worst. And our hope, our best case scenario hope was that _most_ of you would be Mytarric. And, as it stands now, 55% of all the students here are. And that’s great. Excellent. In fact, I think this kind of mix will be just _perfect_.”

Taylor kept blinking. His mind spinning with all his new information.

“But how…” he eventually said, “How could you _know_? How could you _hope_? Before we had the blood test, how could you have possibly tried to figure out if we were Mytarric? Is it like some like physical thing you can see?”

“No,” Sterling said, shaking his head, the black waves of his hair falling freely, “Nothing you can see. I’m…I’m just good at _reading_ people. Understanding them and what makes them _whole_. It’s something all of my kind are rather good at. But it’s hardly an exact science. More of an _intuition_.”

He smiled wider, his lips curled up to the side. A complete enigma, enjoying and playing with the mystery of it all.

Taylor, of course, had many more questions about that. But he realized those would need to wait. There were more pressing, _immediate_ concerns.

“So, you wanted it like this though. A majority of Mytarric students. Why? I mean… you have to know what people are talking about. What all the students are talking about now… What everyone is saying…. I mean, seriously, Sterling. I thought it was just bullshit at first but like… is this actually a _reproduction_ thing? Like, do the Mytarri want to group us all together… and like… you know…”

Taylor trailed off, unable to finish sentence.

“You mean, have you _breed_?” Sterling said, flat and deadpan. Though his smile lingered. “Well, I think you realize how crazy that idea is. How crazy, and how _wrong_. There is nothing in this program that has anything to do with procreation. That has never been and never will be a part of Ridgeview.

“I understand though. I realize people are _surprised_ about their results. And so there’s speculation. Rumors. Some panic. But that’s all it is. None of us who have developed this program have interest or desire or even a thought of some reproduction experiment. That’s just nonsense. Horrible nonsense.

“I mean, of course, if you met a Mytarric woman here at Ridgeview… And decided to have a child with her… And then that child was born _Mytarri_ …Well, I mean, no one would think that a _bad_ thing. I hope, least of all you and the hypothetical mother. But that’s just a minor possibility of something that could happen. There’s absolutely no intent for that.”

Taylor looked at the man across from him.

This strange person who spoke so calmly and plainly. Who looked back at him with clear, unguarded eyes. Kind eyes. All Taylor could see in him was sincerity. Honesty.

And Taylor decided he believed him.

“Alright,” he said, at last, “So why then? Why did you want most of the students here to be Mytarric? What is your intent?”

“Well,” Sterling said. He had leaned back against his chair. Posture casual, relaxed – _open_. “That’s actually pretty straightforward. It really is just what I’ve talked about since the beginning. I want this to be an opportunity for _exchange_. On both sides. An exchange of cultures, ideas, perspectives…

“And so, Mytarric people, people with this recessive gene, they do share some fundamental _genetics_ with Mytarri. So my theory – my _hope_ – is that this could contribute to similar dispositions. Similar temperaments. Really, I think you might just get along better with each other. Be more open with each other. More accepting. Of course, that’s not to say that those without the gene can’t get along with Mytarri. Quite the contrary, actually. But there has been some research, some evidence that suggests Mytarric morts and Mytarri might just be more… _compatible_.”

He paused. His smile tilted up again.

“But,” he said, shrugging a bit, “Who’s really to say? I’m not a scientist. Not a psychiatrist. Not an anthropologist. Not any kind of _ist_. It’s just a hope. An idea. An… _intuition_.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night Taylor found himself drinking beer and talking in circles with his new friends, Darien, Fiona and Zhou. All of them had tested positive as _Mytarric_ as well. And none of them were really sure what to make of it. Not sure of anything beyond this persistent, nagging feeling that this _meant_ something. Something that no one, not the media, the government, Mount Sinai Medical Center or Sterling Xchielkla, had _said_.

Maybe it was something no one actually _knew_. No one except the Mytarri.

Or maybe… well, maybe it was just nothing.

Nothing but nerves and anxiety and panic.

Anyways, the conversation went nowhere fast. Just some outlandish notions and circular ramblings that got wilder with every drink of beer.

So around midnight, he left the group. Headed away from the common area on their floor (this lounge space that was decorated more like a hotel bar than an communal student space) and walked back to his room.

And on the way, he almost walked right into his dorm neighbor.

“Oh, hey, Taylor Steinberg,” Fitch said, stopping right in front of him.

“Oh, hey, Fitch _Dennison_ ,” Taylor said back, teasing. Fitch had this funny habit of always calling everyone by their first and last names.

They started walking together to their rooms, the only two rooms in a corridor tucked off the main hallway.

“What you been up to tonight?” Taylor asked, looking Fitch over. He was dressed nicely, like he’d been out for an upscale dinner or something. Though Fitch always seemed to be dressed nicely. Tonight he wore some dark fitted jeans, some soft Henley shirt, an expensive-looking overcoat, leather ankle boots…

Fitch smiled at him, his round brown eyes bright.

“I had a date,” he said, stopping in front of his door.

Of course he did.

“With that girl from the bar in the Village?”

Fitch had been out with them a few times so far, though much more occasionally than everyone else in Taylor’s new gang. He seemed to be busy a lot of the time, off campus a lot. But on the couple instances he’d gone out with them, Taylor had watched him pick up some rather gorgeous women quite confidently and _easily_.

“No,” Fitch said, smiling, smiling, “Someone different.”

“Uh huh,” Taylor said, “Well, good for you.”

Fitch laughed a little, but focused his eyes on Taylor.

“And you? What’s been going on here?”

“Oh…Well, you know. I met with Sterling today. Got my test results.”

“Oh,” Fitch said, his smile dimming, “Oh shit. Yeah, that would have been today. Hey, you want to come in?”

Fitch opened up the door to his dorm, gestured for Taylor to follow him inside.

And Taylor did. He settled down on the small sofa, while Fitch sat across from him on his bed. Taylor had hung out in here a few times already, and he’d realized quickly that his initial read on this room had been correct. Fitch had replaced all the standard furniture that had come with the dorm room with some different swanky pieces.

Fitch’s room also seemed to be bigger than all the dorm rooms, but now wasn’t the time to bring that up…

“So,” Fitch said, shrugging out of his coat, perched on the edge of his mattress, “You got the results?”

“Yeah,” Taylor said. He took a breath, preparing himself to go through the story again. “And… and it was what I thought, after hearing about everyone else. It was positive. Positive for the Mytarri gene. I’m _‘Mytarric’_.”

“Alright,” Fitch said, some faint smile still on his lips, “Well congratulations. Welcome to the club. How do you feel about it?”

“Honestly, man, I have no fucking idea. It’s like, there’s this thing inside of me. And like everyone’s saying it won’t affect me, but like who, actually knows right? I mean, no one seems to know anything about this… Like – like what if the gene mutates or something? And then what? I get sick and die? Or like…I’ll be Mytarri.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how genes work,” Fitch said, eyes warm, “I don’t think you have to worry about something randomly mutating.”

“Yeah, well – what if this is different? And even if it isn’t, then it’s like my _kids_ … My children could be Mytarri.”

“They could be,” Fitch said, shrugging, “It’s really rare, but it _could_ happen. I don’t think that’s something for you to _worry_ about though. A lot of things could happen when you have kids.”

“Yeah, but,” Taylor insisted, trying to attach his anxious, unsettled feeling to something _tangible_ , “But I heard they will _take_ the kids then. The Mytarri. They take Mytarri kids to Crimimiss. Take them away from their parents. That’s what everyone’s been saying.”

Fitch sighed. Ran a hand through his brown hair, some line appearing in his forehead.

“Well… I really wouldn’t believe _everyone_. Because no one knows what they're actually talking about. Besides, that doesn’t really matter now. That’s all just hypothetical. Are you going to make an appointment at the hospital? I think that would be good for you – to talk through everything with the doctors.”

“Yeah, I’ve got that set up for next week. What about you? Are going to go to the hospital?”

“Ah, no,” Fitch said, shaking his head with a smile, “I’m not. But that’s just me. I think you should though.”

Taylor caught Fitch’s eye. Observed him. The other man just met his gaze with an easy expression, lips curled up, brown eyes clear and calm.

“You’re really fine with this?” Taylor said, rather mystified, “Really? This doesn’t bother you at all.”

Fitch just shook his head.

“It really doesn’t bother me,” Fitch said, “Being Mytarric. It’s…”

He trailed off. His eyes getting a little distant as he searched for the words.

“I think at the end of the day,” he said, “This really only means what _you want it to mean_. All this genetic stuff…you can’t help it. You are who you are. You can’t control that. You can only control how you _view_ yourself. Whether you think the cards you’ve been dealt in life are a blessing or a curse… And I personally think most cards are a blessing. Even if at first it’s not clear how.”

Silence for a moment.

Eventually Taylor shrugged, raised his eyebrows.

“Well, fuck, man,” he said, “That’s that _deep_ shit. And… I hope you’re right. I hope you’re fucking right.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Taylor did go to the doctors at the hospital.

And afterwards, he felt better. They confirmed he wasn’t in any imminent medical danger. He was pretty healthy actually. Nothing to worry about.

He still felt… uneasy about the whole thing. Being _Mytarric_.

But as there wasn’t anything _happening_ because of this news…

Well, eventually he managed to push it out of his mind.

A couple weeks later, they were out. Hanging out at some crowded bar in the East Village. Laughing and joking and drinking.

They probably shouldn’t have gone out.

It was Friday night, yes. But mid-terms began on Monday. They really should have stayed in at Ridgeview. To study more. To finish up their projects.

But they’d been working all week. And it was someone’s birthday or some other excuse. Really everyone just wanted to unwind for a evening. Blow off some steam, before cramming in earnest for the tests _tomorrow_.

It was the familiar gang. The people Taylor had begun to really consider his core friends: Darien, Fiona and Zhou. Plus some other friends from their Ridgeview economics class. And even Fitch had come along, though he claimed he was only going to stay for _one drink_.

Well, it was soon well past one drink.

The group had commandeered a big table at the back of bar, everyone sprawled out and changing places, as people forayed in and out of the crowd, to buy drinks or to chat up people.

“ _Fitch_ ,” Fiona said, as Fitch sat back down with a few fresh drinks. Her voice was loud and impassioned after a couple rounds of beer, “They’ve been checking you out. _All night_.”

“Who?” Fitch said, laughing a little, taking another swig of cider. His eyes followed Fiona’s flapping arm, “The girl or the guy?”

“I don’t know,” Fiona said, smiling wide, leaning against Darien sat beside her, “Both of them.”

“Huh,” Fitch said, looking at the pair, his smile tilting up, “The guy is cute.”

“You should go talk to him,” Fiona insisted, grabbing Fitch’s arm and squeezing, “Like you should go. You know what I mean? You only have the one life, and you gotta _live_.”

Fitch flashed her a sunny grin.

“Well, can’t argue with that, Fi,” he said. Then he took another long drink from his bottle. Moved to stand up, “Alright then. Why not?”

And he walked over towards the man. Leaving the rest of them at the table, exchanging glances.

“So Fitch is into guys too?” Darien asked, eyebrows arched.

“I guess so,” Fiona shrugged, “Does that bother you?”

“What? Of course not. Just … he’s like always with girls. And now he likes dudes too. Like, the guy is getting laid.”

“Ah, Dari,” Fiona said, turning fully towards him, “Sitting here, just perpetuating the stereotype of bisexual promiscuity. That classic privileged white straight male bullshit.” 

Darien looked back at Fiona with a flat expression.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“So you weren’t implying that Fitch sleeps with a lot of people?”

“Yeah, but not because he’s bi. Because he seems to have sex with a lot of people.”

“Well, who cares? People should have sex with whoever…”

Taylor let that ridiculous conversation fade away, shifting to a discussion on other side of the table, about this crazy professor at Columbia. He took another drink of his beer, nodding and smiling along at the girl beside him.

But his eyes kept drifting over, across the bar, to where Fitch was laughing and chatting with that guy.

He hadn’t known that Fitch was into guys either.

But it didn’t entirely surprise him. No, not at all.

_Interesting…_

Time passed. 

Drinks were drunk.

And eventually, Fitch migrated back to their table with the dude, who’s name was Chad or something, and his female friend. 

And while this Chad guy was definitely attractive, his friend was _hot_.

They were roommates. Apparently models from the same talent agency. Like actually _models_ …

And now, for reasons Taylor couldn’t comprehend, the girl seemed interested in _him_.

Her name was Monica.

She ended up pressed next to Taylor on the bench, her tight, lithe body flush against him, her hand resting on his leg.

She smelled great. Felt even better, nestled snugly besides him.

Her laugh was infectious and bright and she seemed just _fascinated_ by him. _(“Whoa, so you all really go to Ridgeview? That school with the Mytarri?”)_

Everyone around them was laughing, talking. Cozied up and warm and just _vibing_.

But it was getting late. The crowd was thinning out. Most of their classmates had already left. And now Zhou and Fiona and Darien were getting up, heading off. Trying to catch the next train uptown.

But Monica was still curled beside Taylor. She leaned up and whispered in his ear that he should come back to their place.

Ah…fuck yes.

He shifted in his seat. Stared at this gorgeous woman. With magnetic dark eyes and pouty red lips and her breasts pressed against his arm.

He managed to nod.

Floored that this woman wanted to take him back to hers.

Across the table, Taylor realized her roommate was having the same conversation with Fitch.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Chad insisted. He pressed against Fitch too, his hands somewhere in Fitch’s lap, “It’ll be fun.”

Taylor watched Fitch smile but shake his head.

“No…” he said, “No… I really shouldn’t…. My meti— Ah, my _friend_ , is flying into tonight. I should really go …”

Fitch trailed off.

He caught Taylor’s eyes across the table.

Taylor nodded empathetically down towards the woman at his side. Tried to convey his words through his raised eyebrows.

If Fitch bailed on this Chad, Taylor was _positive_ his roommate Monica would bail on him.

 _Come on,_ he tried to plead with his eyes to Fitch. _Don’t leave_.

Fitch still shook his head. But he was smiling. Amused.

“Do you really to have to go?” Chad was saying, “Can’t you meet your friend later?”

And he leaned closer to Fitch. Whispered something low into his ear. Then kissed and bit at his earlobe.

Taylor saw Fitch’s face flush over. His eyes darted between the guy beside him, and Taylor, who kept watching the scene .

“Alright,” he said eventually, “Alright… Alright. Let me… Let me make a call.”

And he stood up from the table, his phone in hand.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Taylor woke up with this warm, lush body curled into his.

For the moment, he thought he was still dreaming.

But no – no, this was very _real_.

Memories flooded back from last night. He looked down at this beautiful woman lying beside him. Long dark hair wild and sprawled out around her head. Sleeping so serene. Just steadying, murmured breathing.

Taylor remembered holding her. Kissing her. Being _inside_ her.

Oh fuck.

Oh beautiful, glorious fuck.

Carefully, slowly, as not wake her, Taylor slipped out of bed. Found his clothes in crumpled piles on the ground, and slithered out of the room to the bathroom down the hall.

It felt so _surreal_. The bright morning sun streaming into this apartment through the big modern windows.

He’d never…

He’d never _done_ that before.

Had sex with someone he’d just met at a bar…

Until that point, he’d only had sex with two girls, both his past girlfriends...And there had been that one _other time_... But that was it. 

He got himself situated in the bathroom as best he could. He wanted a shower, but didn’t feel like he could just help himself to their things, their towels… So best to just wait until he got back to the dorm.

So after making himself look somewhat less one-night-stand, he left the bathroom. Went into the kitchen.

So… Did he stick around until Monica woke up? Leave? Go get them breakfast? Try to make breakfast?

In the absence of any real coherent thought, he found himself making coffee. Awkwardly looking for things in a kitchen completely foreign to him.

And then –

“ _FUCK._ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The other bedroom door flew open. Someone had raced out. Frantic. Panicked.

It was _Fitch_.

“Fuck,” he kept saying, “Fucking fuck.”

He was barely dressed. He rushed around the living space of the apartment. Buttoning up his jeans. Throwing a sweater over his head.

“Fitch…” Taylor started. He felt frozen by the kitchen counter, watching his friend circle around the small space, “Are you okay?”

“ _No_ ,” Fitch hissed, “Fucking no. I’m not.”

He stopped his manic pacing. His brown eyes lasered in on Taylor. Expression anxious and grim.

Taylor had never seen the guy this _stressed out_ before.

“Have you seen my phone?” Fitch said, “I can’t find my fucking phone.”

“I don’t…No… I don’t think so…” Taylor’s eyes darted uselessly around the strange apartment.

He found himself moving away from the coffee maker. Looking around the place. Touching tables, random chairs, trying to _help_.

In the corner of his eye, he realized Chad, the guy from last night, had wandered out of his bedroom. He was dressed only in underwear. He looked half-asleep, bewildered.

“What’s –?”

“Shut up!” Fitch hissed, glaring at the guy, “Shut the fuck up. Why didn’t you set a fucking alarm?”

“Alarm?” The guy repeated. He looked so confused. “What? Why…”

“Just – sorry,” Fitch said gruffly, looking away from the guy, “I just—I’m _late_. I need to go. Need to fucking go. I should have left hours ago. I told him I would. I told him I’d come right over. Right back over – And now I can’t find my – FUCK.”

Fitch had been rummaging through the sofa cushions, and he now pulled out a thin phone from between the pillows. His eyes widened, as his shaking fingers unlocked the device.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Fitch kept murmuring, as he scrolled the down the screen, “Oh fucking hell.”

He looked on the verge of tears.

He took a deep breath suddenly. Pressed a button. Brought the phone up to his ear.

“ _Miga_ ,” he said into the phone now, some garbled, pained sound, “ _Miga, I’m sorry—”_

Whoever was on the other end of line cut Fitch off.

Fitch seemed frozen in place for a moment. But then was he nodding. Moving around the apartment again. Stuffing his feet into boots, throwing a coat over his shoulders.

He was speaking into the phone again, and it took Taylor a moment to realize he couldn’t _comprehend_ what Fitch was saying. Because it was another _language_. A completely unrecognizable language to Taylor.

And without another word or glance back at the two people watching him, Fitch let himself out of the apartment. And disappeared down the hall.

Silence for a few moments.

And Taylor realized the guy Chad was staring at him.

“Is he…” Chad started, sounding so bewildered, so perplexed, “Is he alright?”

Taylor just found himself blinking at the closed apartment door.

“You know,” he said, “I have no fucking idea.”

He paused. Weighed all his options. But of course, he knew what he should really do.

Well, so much for his lovely morning after. 

He put down his coffee mug. Grabbed his own coat and stepped into his own shoes.

“I’m gonna – I’m just gonna go check on him,” Taylor said.

And walked he out the apartment. Into the corridor. Down the four flights of stairs in this old, non-elevator building. Onto the streets of New York.

It was a brisk, cold Saturday morning. But the street was bustling. As alive as ever.

But absolutely no sign of Fitch.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

Taylor didn’t see Fitch the rest of the weekend.

He’d texted him a couple times. No response.

And none of their other friends had heard from him either.

He didn’t know what to do. What he _should_ do…

Sure, he and Fitch were friends. But like… he really didn’t know the guy that well. And Fitch always seemed to be out and about, off campus a lot at night. Was it really any of Taylor’s business where Fitch was? Or what he was doing?

Still… Fitch had clearly been _upset_ about something. Something had been _wrong_ …

But it was mid-terms. Time to study.

So Taylor crammed and read the next two days, preparing.

And then it was Monday.

Their economics test at Ridgeview.

And Fitch wasn’t _there_.

Alright… well, that didn’t seem good.

And then the next day, for their history mid-term exam at Columbia, Fitch also wasn’t there.

That was when Taylor started to get worried.

Should he… should he say something to someone?

Well, surely the professors realized Fitch hadn’t shown up. But like… should he get someone else in involved? Was it actually his business?

And besides, who would he talk to about someone…well someone, what? _Missing?_ They had no resident advisor at the dorms or anything like that. No dean of student affairs…

Just the university director, Sterling.

And on Wednesday, after another mid-term, Taylor happened to see Sterling leaving the dining hall.

Oh fuck.

Well, alright. He might as well. Just to get it off his conscience that he at least _said_ something.

“Hi – Sterling,” Taylor said, catching up to him in the courtyard, “Can I talk to you for a second?”

The man paused and turned around. All graceful, limber movements. Kind, small smile as he looked at Taylor.

“Hello, Taylor,” he said, tone warm and rich, as he stepped closer to the student. Standing near each other, Taylor was extremely aware of how _tall_ Sterling was. He wasn’t that short himself, at a very reasonable six feet, but Sterling _towered_ over him. This consuming presence. It wasn’t intimidating per se… but it was rather impossible to _ignore_.

“Is something wrong?” Sterling asked, a crease appearing on his face. He stepped closer to Taylor. “Do you want to talk somewhere privately?”

“No,” Taylor said, “No… It’s fine. At least, I think. I just.. well, it’s Fitch. You know, Fitch Denn –”

“Yes,” Sterling said, coming closer still. He was really almost right on top of Taylor now, “Is there a problem with Fitch?”

“No… No, I just… I haven’t _seen_ him. For a few days. He’s… I think he’s missed his mid-terms. I saw him on Saturday, but like… I don’t think he came back to the dorms ever. So I just… Wanted to let you know.”

“I see,” Sterling smiled wider now. He’d stepped back a bit from Taylor. Seemed to exhale. _Relax_. “Well, that's very good of you, Taylor. Very _kind_ of you. To look out for Fitch. But yes, I’m aware that he has been absent. And he probably won’t be back on campus for a few days. He has some… personal matters to deal with. But thank you for checking on him.”

“Oh,” Taylor said, “Oh, okay then. Cool. Well, thanks for letting me know.”

So… that was that then.

What else could he say?

It definitely wasn’t his place to ask about any personal issues with Fitch…

But why…

Why did he keep feeling like there was something else going on here?

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taylor saw Fitch again the following Monday. Over a week since he had abruptly left that East Village apartment.

It was the morning. Taylor had just exited his room. About to venture down to the dining hall for some breakfast before classes.

But there in their corridor was Fitch.

He smiled brightly when he saw Taylor.

He was dressed in workout clothes, like he’d just got back from a run. Face flushed from sweat and the cold of a New York winter day.

“Hey, Taylor Steinberg,” he said, all chipper and good cheer.

“Fitch,” Taylor smiled, moving towards him, “Hey, man, you’re back. Haven’t seen you for a while.”

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Fitch said, shrugging, “Hey, come in.”

They went over to Fitch’s room.

Taylor sat on the small sofa, while Fitch sat down on the floor, stretching out his legs.

“So where have you been, man?” Taylor asked, watching the guy reach for his toes with impressive flexibility, “I was kinda worried about you. You missed mid-terms.”

Fitch arched his neck up. Smiled at Taylor with pearly white teeth.

“Yeah,” he said, “Sterling said that you asked about me. That’s sweet, Taylor, thanks. But no worries. I just had some things I had to take care of.”

“Okay. Cool…” Taylor trailed, trying to figure out how to word it, “I just…Last weekend. When we were at Monica and Chad’s… You seemed _upset_. And you left really quickly. So I just wanted to make sure things were _okay_.”

“Yeah,” Fitch said, still smiling, “Everything’s good. But I’m… I’m sorry I left you there like that. Left so quickly. I just…I was late to meet my friend. And I felt _bad_ because he was in town to see me. So it was kind of a whole thing… But it’s fine now. All good.”

“Oh… okay…Well, hope you still got to hang out with your friend later.”

“Oh, yeah,” Fitch said, raising his eyebrows emphatically, “We definitely did.”

Well, alright then…

“Is he like… your boyfriend?” Taylor said, before he could stop himself. 

And Fitch burst into _laughter_.

“Oh wow,” he said, his grin so amused as he looked up towards the ceiling, “Oh wow…I didn’t even _think_ … And fuck. _Fuck_. I genuinely do not know how to answer that question. Except, no … I mean, I wouldn’t call him that. And he wouldn’t call himself that. But… he’ll be _delighted_ that you thought that.”

Taylor didn’t even know where to start with nonsense..

“Well… that definitely sounds like _something_ ,” he said, really just to have something to say.

“He’s my _friend_ ,” Fitch said insistently, “My _friend_.”

Taylor nodded. Smiled back.

“Sure,” he said, “Sure he is. So… what’s your friend’s name?”

“Miguel.” Fitch paused. Some shadow crossed his face. “Though, actually Taylor, I’d prefer if you don’t really mention this to anyone. It’s just… it’s just _complicated_. You understand?”

Taylor looked at Fitch.

This guy sitting, sprawled out on the floor, staring at up him with intent eyes. _Deep_ eyes. Eyes brimming with something that Taylor wasn’t even sure what to name. But whatever it was, it was _compelling_. Strong.

“Sure, no problem,” Taylor said, “I understand.”

Of course, he didn’t. Not at all.

But at least things made a little more _sense_. Even though Fitch didn’t seem to want to _label_ it, it was obvious this Miguel guy meant something to him. And so, if Fitch had been supposed to meet up with him last weekend, but had actually ended up hooking up with some other random guy instead… Taylor could see how things would have been _messy_.

But then again, who really knew? Fitch didn’t seem to want to actually explain or share anything substantial about the situation. And though Taylor was _curious_ , he wasn’t going to really push…

“Well,” Taylor said, deciding he should change the subject, “What are you going to do about your mid-terms then?”

“Oh yeah…” Fitch breathed out. His smile faded a bit. “Well…I think the classes here at Ridgeview will be fine. Sterling is… _understanding_. I’m sure it will all work out.”

Taylor shrugged noncommittally. If Fitch thought Sterling could help, great… But personally he didn’t think that was going to fly with their professors…

“And what about the classes at Columbia?” Taylor asked.

“Yeah… Yeah… fixing that would be more involved…” Fitch said, his eyes turning distant, “And I’m not going to get any _help_ with that. Definitely not from Miga, after everything this week… So I’ll probably end up failing the classes. But c’est la vie. Consequences and all that shit.”

Taylor just stared at Fitch. He seemed to be talking to himself more than Taylor, and Taylor had no idea what he meant. All he knew was Fitch seemed resigned to failing some classes, but he didn’t really seem that _bothered_ about it.

“Well, sorry, man,” he said awkwardly, “I hope you don’t fail them.”

“Thanks, Taylor. It’s alright though.” He looked back up and met his eyes. Smile showing some teeth again. “The grades don’t matter. Not to me at least. In the end, it’s all going to be just _fine_.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taylor and Fitch were _closer_ after that.

Fitch asked him to hang out a bit more, and he spent more time with their gang of Darien, Fiona and Zhou.

Things were good.

Taylor wasn’t sure what ultimately happened with Fitch’s classes or grades. All he knew was that Fitch dropped the history class they’d both been taking at Columbia. But everything else seemed to be alright.

Taylor had definitely made a _stupid_ mistake though.

As he spent more time with Fitch, he realized that the guy kept a rather _intense_ workout & exercise schedule.

And for some unknown reason, at some point Taylor had mentioned how he wanted to get into better shape… 

And, long story short, Fitch had persuaded him into _running_ with him a couple times a week.

It was all quite painful. Waking up before dawn, and going out in the cold dark of a New York winter morning. Fitch said he didn’t go out if it was snowing, or below freezing. But so far in the season that hadn’t happened _yet_.

And so, Taylor found himself in Central Park on a frigid December morning, leaning against a bench, trying to catch his breath.

“Come on,” Fitch said, laughing a bit, jogging back to where Taylor had stopped, “Let’s finish this loop here. “

“Fuck that,” Taylor said, his breath this white cloud in the cold, “You finish. I’m going back to the dorm.”

“Oh come on. You serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious. We’re not all fucking training for the Olympics or whatever the hell you’re doing.”

Fitch just laughed, still jogging in place.

“Alright lazy bear. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

And Fitch turned and continued down the trail with the other insane New Yorkers out at this hour and temperature.

Taylor walked back to the campus, only a few blocks over from the park at the northeast corner.

The sun had started to come out now. He was sweaty and quickly getting cold despite his layers. More than ready for a shower and some hot breakfast.

He arrived at the gate to their small Ridgeview enclave, fishing for his keycard in his wallet. This entrance was like an archway. Covered and sheltered with a couple booths for guards, but all outside. It was really a small tunnel that led to the internal courtyard of their campus.

The usual security guards were there that day. They waved him in as Taylor swiped his card and unlocked the gate. But also there –

“Oh, good morning, Taylor Steinberg.”

The gate closed behind him as the man walked over to Taylor.

It was Wilmer Dylan.

Sterling Xchielkla’s husband. Sterling’s _Mytarri_ husband. So far the only Mytarri person Taylor had actually _met_.

Though… they hadn’t really met before.

After his speech at the orientation dinner, Taylor had just seen him around campus a handful of times.

But they’d never _spoken_.

In fact, Taylor was honestly shocked he’d recognized him and knew his name.

“Oh, hi Wilmer – ”

“Please,” he cut off him. Flashed a small, wry smile. “Call me Dylan.”

“Oh, alright. How’s it going, Dylan?”

“Well, good. Very good.”

The man had stopped right in front of Taylor. Bordering on his personal space.

He was shorter than Taylor by a good few inches, but Taylor couldn’t help but feel … some intensity of presence from him. He had on thick winter clothes. Padded black jacket. Heavy, military style boots. His curly black hair was covered in a woolen hat, sticking out with a couple stray spirals.

But there was also… the _jewelry_.

Numerous silver and gem-lined loops in his ears.

Some small speck of stone in his nose.

And yes, partially visible above his scarf, Taylor could see that striking _choker_ around his neck. The rocks in the design glinted in the morning light.

“You’re up early,” Dylan said. He eyed Taylor up and down, and despite cold, Taylor felt his face flush. “Were you out for a run?”

“Uh, yeah,” Taylor said, “Went out in the park. Went with Fitch for a little.”

Dylan’s grin deepened.

“Well, isn’t that cute?” he said, “So where’s Fitch now?”

“Um, still running, I guess. I needed a break. I’m really out of shape.”

“Of course you are,” Dylan smirked, “Well, hang out with Fitch long enough, and I’m sure he’ll whip you into shape.”

Taylor didn’t know what to say to that.

“Everything else alright?” Dylan continued, stepping closer to Taylor, “Any issues with anything on campus? Any media giving you a hard time on the street here?”

Yeah, they did get some reporters hanging around outside the campus. Not so much these days, but in the first few weeks of term, it had been a little crazy.

But Taylor had really tried to _avoid_ of that.

“No. Nothing with that.”

“Good,” Dylan nodded, “I noticed you hadn’t spoken to the press at all. I wondered if someone might be trying to work some story deal with you.”

“Oh, no,” Taylor shrugged, “No… I’m not… I’m not really interested in any of that. I know some people are talking with different journalists but like…No. Not for me. I don’t really care about a selling a story.”

“Oh yeah? How sensible of you,” Dylan said, moving closer still. He was really almost _touching_ Taylor. His deep blue eyes locked onto him.

Taylor couldn’t help but drop his gaze to his neck.

That … choker. But no, on the front of the polished silver, there was clearly some ring hinged onto the jewelry, elegantly incorporated into the design. Like where someone would clip a _leash_ or something…

It really was a _collar_.

Dylan just smiled. He saw where Taylor’s eyes had gone.

He reached up and undid his scarf a bit. Letting Taylor see the full design.

“Do you like this?” He asked, tracing the edge of the stones with his fingers, “It’s kind of big, isn’t it?”

“Um…No, it’s… nice,” Taylor managed, feeling his face heat up even more. He really needed to get a hold of himself. If the guy wanted to wear a collar around his neck, that was hardly any of his business. He really shouldn’t be _staring_. But still… “Are those… diamonds?”

“Yes,” Dylan said, “All diamonds. Thoroughly _excessive_. But no one has ever claimed _avalna_ of being subtle. Speaking of…”

“Dylan,” a warm voice said from behind them.

Taylor startled. Turned to see Sterling walking over to them with long, quick strides.

“Oh, hello,” Dylan said, his playful smile still on in full, “Finally decided to join me, then?”

Sterling reached them, and moved into Dylan’s space immediately. He leaned down to the shorter man and kissed him. _Deeply_. His arm wrapped over his husband’s shoulders, enclosing him, bringing him into his side.

“Hmm,” Sterling murmured, breaking away from Dylan’s mouth. He straightened up a bit. Shifted his gaze.

“How are you doing, Taylor?” Sterling asked, “You keeping Dylan company?”

“Taylor just got back from a run,” Dylan said, nestling against Sterling’s long overcoat. “He was out with _Fitch_.”

“Oh, right,” Sterling smiled, “Kind of a cold morning for a run though?”

“Yes,” Dylan agreed, “The poor boy must be frozen.”

And without any warning, Dylan reached out and grabbed Taylor’s arm. _His wrist_.

His grip was _strong_. Extremely strong. Taylor hadn’t been expecting that from someone of Dylan’s statue, and he found himself jerking back in the hold. Which only made Dylan press _harder_.

Taylor was sure the grip would _bruise_.

“Your skin is freezing,” Dylan said, locking his blue eyes right on Taylor. His thumb massaged Taylor’s wrist in firm, purposeful skins, pressing into the delicate tendons at the base of his hand.

And as abruptly as he grabbed at Taylor, he released.

“You should get back inside, Taylor Steinberg,” Dylan said, with a far too knowing grin, “Warm up.”

And Taylor didn’t need any more encouragement.

With a few awkward words, he turned away and left.

What the fuck had that been about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... lots of nonsense here. But essentially, Taylor is in waaay over his head <3 
> 
> I realize there's probably a lot of questions, so please feel free to ask me anything. If not in a comment here, I also have a gmail address (email in my profile).
> 
> And for an announcement, I'm working on a Patreon :) Super excited about this. Plan is post chapters early chapters of this story, Bridging the Gap there. As well as extra stories ... I'll update this once the page is live. Hope you all with check it out! 
> 
> Also - I'm in the process of putting together a glossary, as there's lot of crazy words to keep track of. Will share that soon too. Issue I'm having is that writing a clear definition for some of the words can lead to some plot spoilers... So I'm trying to balance that a bit. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you all so much for reading! Feedback is loved and appreciated.


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